tampered | Obla-Di, obla-da, life goes on...

Obla-Di, obla-da, life goes on...

When; Sunday Evening
Rating; I seriously doubt anything over PG going on here
Characters; Stephen Stills, Castiel, Rose Lalonde, Hanna Cross, Ye Ol' Nameless Guy. Dave Strider, Demyx
Summary; Sunday night dinner Chez Stills/Lalonde/Cross/Strider/wtf-is-their-last-name-you-guys
Log;

Stephen leans up against the counter in the kitchen and double-checks his to-do list. The food is cooking and/or done, dessert is in the fridge, he has enough booze to keep his older brothers happy, and he managed to rope a very sulky Rose into setting the table. So far so good. He draws himself a pretty generous glass of red wine and takes a large gulp. All that's left now if for the troops to arrive.

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Rose, for her part, is not overly thrilled at being dragged into helping. It's not that she doesn't like her family, it's just they always seem to be around anyway. Although at least it's better than going to theirs all the time. At least here she can escape if she needs to.

Still, the table will look the picture of elegance by the time she's done with it. And god help anyone who tries to touch anything before she's finished.

And arrive they will, around about the time requested (around).

No promises on whether that whole "talking" thing has been tried yet in this house, but, well, it's been brought up.

Anyway--dinner with the family (even the bits that may not actually be related), no matter how weird the family might be.

Hanna always enjoys these big family dinners. Yeah, he's always hanging around the rest of his family, so this isn't exactly an out of the ordinary situation. But the dinner bit always makes it feel more formal and special.

He always arrives about 5 minutes early, with food in tow.

Stephen yells in from the kitchen as Rose is still working her magic.

"Make sure to add bread plates! People'll need them for salad." He wanders out, wine glass still in tow, and gives a long whistle.

"Man, you never do things by half, kiddo."

Stephen is still in the chef-zone, so he only glances up when Hanna walks in. He has his apron on and is working about three different pots on the stovetop.

"Hey man. Wine's in the fridge. What'd you bring?"

She just rolls her eyes at the comment from the kitchen - as though that wasn't something she already had in hand. She doesn't deign to grant that one a response, instead remaining focused on her handiwork.

She does, however, look up when her father walks in. "I fail to see the point in doing something if you're not going to do it properly."

"It's a good philosophy on life. Although you certainly don't get it from me," he says with a grin over the top of his glass.

"When you're done, feel free to head back to the cave. I'll let you know when Dave and Demyx get here."

She just shrugs at that. These days it's hard to know what she's picked up from her parents and what's come from outside sources.

"I'm sure I'll know when they arrive before you get the chance to tell me. A quiet entrance is not something much of our family is known for."

"Touche."

He slings and arm casually around her shoulder. She'll probably complain about it, but he stopped caring about that a long time ago.

"You'll just have to be quiet and intellectual enough for the rest of them."

She attempts to dodge out of the hold under pretence of checking something on the table. Just because she has to suffer the affection occasionally doesn't mean she's going to start enjoying it.

"Actually I think my dear uncle has me defeated when it comes to quiet. Which makes him something of a rare exception."

Not that she minded her dads. As much as she complained, she still wouldn't be without them.

He's used to her ducking out of hugs enough that he doesn't pay it too much mind.

"He has always been the rare exception in the family. In that way and many others."

"Is that so? Well I suppose every family needs its eccentric." Granted in her family it was a matter of what kind of eccentric but that was hardly the point.

Yeah, pretty much. This is a family of contrasting kinds of eccentrics. Don't you feel so lucky, Rose?

"You can stay and help me with dinner, if you want. I just have the salad left to do and I could use a chopping buddy."

Oh so lucky. And yet she'll miss it when it's gone.

She scowls a little at the sudden call to assistance - oh sure, optional but would she hear the end of it if she didn't? - but relents anyway. No need to have a knife-related accident because someone was trying to drink and cough at the same time.

"I suppose I could spare some time to help with that."

That gets you an extremely proud Dad-grin. He's so easy to please.

"Great! You can get up your chopping station at the end of the island."

Stephen goes back to finishing off the lentil curry he's been working on. He kinda likes it when they can have times like this, just existing in the same room. He was never a bit talker when he was young, either, and he enjoys the comfortable silences they can have.

Rose nods and goes to chop up various veggies that need chopping. Once again, what she lacks in speed she more than makes up for in presentation.

And though she'd never admit it out loud, she likes these moments too. The moments where she's just allowed to exist without having to answer stupid questions or anything of the sort. Just them, together, doing what they need to.

With sassy, irritating kid in tow. He pretty much complained the entire way over.

"What're we doing here again?"

[ ooc: hahaha, you are free to god-mod him all you like! that is a father's job. ]

Seriously, kid. Get it together. There are more functional things to do than complain. Put that energy towards something else.

Not that...he's going to say that. This is all he'll say in answer:

"We're here for dinner."

Because they are and because literalism is a fun way to end a conversation.

End a conversation? With Dave? Hahaha, nice try.

"We're missing out on the Sunday Special at 2 Doors Down."

"We're not missing much."

"... Caught me there."

Everyone knows their food is garbage anyway.

"Hope you know you're dragging my away from some inevitably sick beats. I can hear my turntables screaming my name in anguish from here."

"Well, let 'em scream and then work that sound into your next set of...inevitably sick beats."

"I'll call it the Wailings of Dave Strider."

"I thought I heard something familiar."

Because this is the best time for Rose to make her presence known.

"Sounds like a hit."

A pause.

"Now behave yourself."

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Obla-Di, obla-da, life goes on...

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